Her Release

Your metaphors ––
caged animals, restless
pressure building
simmering pots and magma chambers bursting
volcanoes miscarrying the Earth’s outrage
in a cunty crimson gush of rain ––
expose you, openly as closed,
shut off tight
all fire and life and madness
tamped down into hard unsmokable pits, airless
incapable of a real blaze against the slow fade of day…

Your metaphors ––
you are a prisoner placed behind bars
a prisoner of the cruelty of others and of the world itself
in your pen, a lower subhuman life to be gawked at
photographed – an object
a planet of incarceration, constructed to keep you held
encrusted beneath shifting plates of shining armor
of a deceased chivalrous past, a damsel distressed
whom no knight may come in aid
to save from the warlock’s bubbling cauldron
because your icy heart cannot be thawed
it converts direct to steam
to blow the lid lethally off
severing your would-be hero’s head
as sure as a blade shaves legs…

Your metaphors ––
full of traps and no mechanisms of escape ––
only violent eruption, ejaculation, decapitation… release is violence…

Your metaphors ––
horrible endings; no beginnings
never the tale of how you got in; just the story of how you can’t get out


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